


You Deserve A Rest

by heytheremisterblue



Category: Half-Life
Genre: Depersonalization, Dissociation, Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-04-21 16:56:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22095922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heytheremisterblue/pseuds/heytheremisterblue
Summary: Gordon loses who he is.A short writing exercise inspired by the grungy, dingy, visceral atmosphere of Black Mesa, the Source Engine remake of the original Half-Life.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	You Deserve A Rest

You’ve been awake for a long time. 24 hours? 36 hours? More? You don’t know. You hardly know what time of day it is down here. You’ve seen the sun once or twice and the moon in one specific instance--every other moment has been spent under flickering fluorescent bulbs, or sparking wires, or unidentifiable liquid that probably shouldn’t be illuminating the room like that. You’re starving but your stomach is unwilling to eat. You know you could break the vending machine glass with minimal effort but your throat bobs at the mere thought of food. You taste blood in your mouth. It belonged to Matt, one of the security guards you talked to on the tram every second Wednesday. He was shot in the face in front of you. You think about it a little too long and your eyes sting, so you start thinking about work instead.

Push the cart towards the beam, wait as the board operators write down the readings. Remove it from the beam. Wait for power down and for them to open the door for you to exit. Take off the HEV suit. Go to your desk for a day of paperwork and sneaking digital solitaire while your supervisor isn’t looking. Grab lunch with Dr. Vance like you scheduled last week.

Today wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Your hair is dry at the ends, crusted with sewage--another catalyst for your lack of appetite. The roots are swelled with sweat. You haven’t wiped off your face for a while. You holster your gun and remove your glasses, wiping across your forehead. Your glove irritates your bloody skin. You barely feel it anymore.

When you return your glasses to your nose, you keep walking. A window glistens in your peripheral and you quickly turn to face it, pistol pointed and cocked. Just a reflection. It’s a man, and he has your face, but it’s not you. You don’t know what you look like anymore. You are frozen in place for several long seconds, staring at the unhinged figure. He frightens you.

A noise behind you prompts you to turn around and return to the world. Just an exposed wire in the ceiling, which you assume was once connected to the light a handful of feet to the right of it. At least there’s some electricity.

You think to yourself that you would kill for a shower, before realizing that you have, and you will again. You almost lose your grip on your handgun. You taste Matt’s blood again. You hear a scream but you don’t turn around; you’ve been at this long enough to recognize which of the screams are real.

The revolver in your second gun holster stares at you. You look back. You know what it does. You’ve seen it. You’ve engendered it. For the thousandth time this hour, your brain shows you a picture of what it might look like for your own brain to meet a .357 bullet. If you did it, no one would know. They wouldn’t find your body down here. You could. You could forfeit. Rest. Christ, you’re so tired. 

No.

You don’t deserve a rest.

You look up from the gun and keep moving.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Last time I said I wasn't dead was September, so I guess I should go ahead and update and say I'm STILL not dead! This is just a little thingy I wrote. Haven't written in a heck of a long time, so I'm trying to ease my way in. Consider this dipping my toe into the pool. I'll probably do a cannonball later.


End file.
